


Shovel Talk(s)

by CheseraFifthe



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Gen, POV Second Person, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheseraFifthe/pseuds/CheseraFifthe
Summary: Her name is Nott and you love her.You just didn't think being with her involved quite so many threats of bodily harm.





	Shovel Talk(s)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays everyone! I had the urge to write a shovel talk, and Nott's significant other being on the recieving end of one (or many) would be equal parts heartwarming and hilarious.
> 
> This story is in second person because Nott has shown no serious interest in any person in particular, so I wanted to be ambiguous as possible.

Her name is Nott and you love her. It feels too early to say it, to her or anywhere outside your head, but she is a light you didn't know you needed in your life.

You would follow her anywhere—grant her anything her lovely heart desires— if only she would look your way. She is loud, and brash, and so _brave_ it hurts to breathe the same air as her sometimes.

 

She's a famous adventurer, her and her friends. Family, she's corrected more than once. You don't know why she hangs around. Not really. You're a homebody by nature; always more interested in her stories and souvenirs than you ever would be experiencing them yourself. You could stay within ten miles of your hometown and be content.

It probably showed, as within the first five minutes of entering Zadash, you were pickpocketed for most of your savings, bar an emergency fund in your left boot. Imagine your surprise later on when the pickpocket returned—apologizing even— mumbling something about how _'It was an emergency, but you're not grumpy enough'_. She treated you to dinner and you fell in love. With her stories, with her wit, with her humor. Just her.

She was a little oblivious; it soothed your nerves when you asked her on your first date together. Even if it was a little demeaning to hear that Jester liked the candy and Yasha liked the flowers. You see one or two of those flowers nestled in her hair and you feel like a winner.

* * *

 

You have heard so much about her party— their triumphs and heartbreaks and fuckups— that you feel like you would know them instantly. And you had a feeling that the handsome half-orc that sat down next to you at the bar of the _Lodge of the Eclipse_ was Fjord.

He raised a hand and a drink slid in front of you both. And then he turned to you, taking a drink; his eyes watched you far more closely than his body language portrayed.

“So you're Nott's new friend. Never did catch your name…” He deliberately trailed off. You debated being petty, staying silent. But this was one of Nott's people and if any of your family were interested in someone, you would like to know who they were seeing.

You tell him your name, bracing yourself for questions of worthiness. It’s still disheartening that there is not even vague recognition in his features. It hurts you worse than any interrogation ever could.

“It's nice to make your acquaintance. Name's Fjord.” You take the offered hand because your mother raised a polite child, ignoring the slightly-too-firm handshake.

“Now, Nott doesn't much care for interference, but I feel you and I should be on the same page.” He said in a tone as mild as milk, releasing your hand. You suppressed the urge to massage your palm and you listened. “Nott is very kind and she has many friends, both in high and low places.”

“I'd like to count myself among them.” You manage to say in a rush, before you are silenced with a _look._ The room is cold and heavy. Your throat is dry and the drink you take is as much to quench your thirst as it is to scour the room because it feels like there's a million eyes watching the two of you right now. Everyone is invested in the entertainment for the night, and you turn back to the mirthless smirk on Fjord's face.

“You do that. Point is, if Nott ever feels pressured or discomfited or inconvenienced—If she ever feels uncomfortable in any way and _you're_ the cause? Well, let's just say that we have ways of making people disappear.” His eyes glow a supernatural yellow. “The Mighty Nein take care of their own.”

There is a tension in the room as though some great beast will consume you here if you do not answer in a way the half-orc likes.

You swallow once. Twice. A third time before you can say anything without your voice shaking to bits, “I'll do my best to keep her happy.”

The pressure lifts, Fjord’s smile becomes a real thing and he can see why the Mighty Nein will follow him if he is usually so charming. “I'm glad we could come to an understanding. Thank you for your time.”

He places two gold coins on the bar and saunters off. You take a calming breath. Put the conversation out of your mind. And you contemplate where you and Nott will go next, now that you have the tentative approval of the leader of the Mighty Nein.

 

You had no idea at that point that it wasn't so much approval as it was an invitation for the others to come see you for themselves.

* * *

 

The next member of Nott's party to visit you scares you half to death when she jumps three stories to the ground in front of you;looking for all the world like she stepped down seven inches not _fifty goddamn feet._

“You don't look like much.” She says aloud and you toss away the immediate urge to punch her. Judging by those guns, she would win eleven times out of ten and laugh at you for trying to catch the wind.

This must be Beauregard.

“You must be Nott’s monk friend. Beau.” You are very proud that your voice is only a little shaky. She is a different sort of scary, not bothering with the thin veneer of civility that Fjord had pretended. She is the childish fears of _government agents in black coming to steal you away_ come to life. Except she dresses in shades of blue.

She rattles off your name, your hometown, your parents’ names. Who you played with as a kid, who you avoided. Your occupation, different from your parents’ but she lists those too. How much you make in a year, who your supporters are and who is supported by you in turn. She lists off your schedule for the past two weeks, highlighting your dates with Nott in particular. She tells you what you had for dinner last night and breakfast this morning. All while looking at you like you are a bug beneath her spiky boot.

The implication is clear. She knows who you are, where you’ll run to, and how to hunt you down if you disappear without her say so. She shoves you against the wall, and snarls in your face, “Hurt her and I’ll hurt you.” And she stalks off.

Nott sure has some scary friends. You rub your bruised collar and carry along your way, equal parts appreciative and terrified of the people who take such good care of Nott the Brave.

* * *

 

“Hello there!” A blue hand is thrust into your face, waving a pamphlet. “Have you heard of our lord and savior, the Traveler?” You take the pamphlet from the cheerful blue tiefling that can only be Jester from Nott’s stories. Your lips twitch as you see the multi-colored writing and several well-drawn dicks on the tiny pamphlet.

“My name is Lady Elizabeth Fancypants the Third, and _you_ , Mysterious Stranger, look like the type of person that needs a bit of fun in your life!” It might be an innuendo, but it is said so cheerfully that it’s probably harmless.

“Well, thank you my lady, but your name is much too long for me to remember! Do you mind if I shorten it to Jester?” You can’t help but tease the woman. Nott was right, she somehow exudes friendship, and the big grin on her face warms your heart. Surely Jester can’t be as scary as the half-orc or the monk that punches-first-and-asks-questions-never, right?

“Oh, you’ve heard of me!” Jester beams, “Nott must have told you _all_ about me, the strongest Cleric of the Mighty Nein! Because Caduceus and I are both _pretty_ pretty, so I am not the prettiest cleric because that would not be fair to him. _But_ I am definitely the strongest!”

“She has told me about you.” You say, “One of the world’s best detectives, aren’t you? Nott’s best friend besides Caleb, right?” Putting faces to the names (a thankfully friendly face this time) is a very satisfying thing.

“Yes, Nott and I run the _best_ detective agency! I mean, I technically did not see you two together first, technically. That was Beau. But I could just _tell_ you guys were involved, you know, _romantically_.” She waggled her eyebrows, drawing a blush against your will. “It’s just like one of my romance novels! Only I don’t want Nott to run away to get married with you. She belongs with me and the rest of the Mighty Nein, you know? She wouldn’t leave us or her baby Caleb behind, not for anyone, or all the shiny things in the world!”

You blink and decide to leave that statement behind for now, instead offering to her, “I wouldn’t ask her to do that. She’s amazing as she is, and the Mighty Nein are an important part of her life.”

Jester’s eyes grew wide and shiny, hands clasped against her cheeks, “Oh that’s so sweet! I can see why she likes you. Okay, okay! You have my permission to date Nott. But!” She points a finger in your face, looking vaguely accusing. “If you ever, _ever_ make her cry, I, Jester Fancypants Lavorre, will prank you to near death.” Her eyes shadowed and her words echoed in the air, “And then I will heal you and do it again until you are _sorry_.” She paused, cocking her head, “And the Traveler will help.” she added almost as an afterthought.

A shiver races down your spine, a faint chuckle surrounds the pair of you.

And then she smiles, pats you on the head, and skips away. The only sign of her presence is the pamphlet of the Traveler clutched in your hand.

* * *

 

The next time you and Nott meet up, she asks “Wait, _are_ we dating?”

She says it with such disbelief that your heart hurts. Still you hope so and you say as much, “I’d like to be. But only if you want to, of course.”

Nott observes you for a long, long moment. And just when you think she’s going to let you down gently (because Nott is and always has been far too good for you),  she finally takes your hand, lacing your fingers through hers.

She kisses your cheek. You feel like you could fly away here and now.

* * *

 

Yasha, the harbinger of death who loves flowers, visits you next. She is not subtle, which you appreciate more than you can say. After the deceptively charming Fjord, the outright antagonistic Beau, and the mercurial Jester, Yasha’s straightforward threat is a breath of fresh air. She walks into your place of employment and starts casually sharpening her sword. She says a threat that almost sounds like she had rehearsed it a few times before coming here to announce it.

It goes something like this:

“Hello. My name is Yasha and I am Nott’s friend. She seems to be, uh, involved with you and I am happy for you both. But if you make her cry and I see you again, I will have to skin you and make new arm warmers with your carcass. Sorry.”

Yasha holds herself with a confidence and surety that says she both knows she can do this and means every word. It is a very good threat, and that she doesn’t stick around after adds to the air of mystery she gives off. It was a weird day for all involved, as you hadn’t exactly told anyone you were seeing anyone, let alone someone with such scary friends.

* * *

 

Caduceus Clay invites you out to tea. There aren’t too many firbolgs in Zadash, and the one with pink hair is definitely the one Nott has mentioned in her stories. He is so laid back that you suspect him of poisoning the tea. He is baffled by the suggestion, “Why would you ruin perfectly good tea with poison?” You shrug, sipping at the tea anyway. It _is_ good tea, and you don’t spit on someone’s hospitality. You are bracing yourself for the threat yet to come. It never does.

“I’m glad you adore her.” Caduceus offers apropos of nothing. “She needs more people like that in her corner. And as much as I love my friends, they are rather chaotic. I think, if you remain as sincere as you are now. As in love with her as you’ve almost always been. Then you’ll be a stable influence she needs when we all get to be a little—” he grimaces, glancing down into his cup, “—much.”

His gaze is placid, like he has read the depths of your soul and pulled out the truth of you. Maybe, you think, Caduceus doesn’t need threats because sometimes honesty and genuine faith in people are so much more frightening.

A long ear twitches and he glances over your shoulder, “Ah, right. I’m apparently supposed to warn you off. Um, well." He scratches at the back of his head sheepishly. “Violence is a natural thing, but I’m sure the others have it plenty covered. I’ll just say that I’ll be the one to sprout flowers on your grave.”

For someone who’s not going to threaten you, it is a very intimidating statement. Still curiosity gets the better of you, and you can’t help but ask, “What kind of flowers?”

“Oh, um,” He looks you up and down, not as a being but as _future plant food_. “Goldenrods, probably. Goosefoots. Maybe some pansies thrown in for variety.”

“Those are pretty.” You say inanely, because you barely know roses from daisies. Caduceus looks at you drolly, finishing his cup of tea.

“I should probably warn you.” he says, paying no attention to you and instead on what is now his third cup of the afternoon, “We are all protective of Nott, that’s true, but none of us care more than Caleb. He’ll want to see what you’re made of sooner rather than later.”

It’s kind of him, really, to warn you of your upcoming demise. You hope the proposed flowers look good at your graveside. And that Nott will miss you when you’re gone. You’ll have to write up your will to make sure all of the shiny things you have go to her upon your untimely demise.

* * *

 

When faced with a contemptuous wizard and his cat, apparently the thing to do is offer the cat a biscuit. It looks at you with disdain, which is a thing you hear cats normally do, but the glowing eyes are kind of a giveaway that this is not a normal cat.

And then a dirty wizard with braided flowers in his hair steps out of the shadows. This must be Caleb.

“I have heard a lot about you in the past couple of days.” he starts without introducing himself. “From Jester and Caduceus. Beau. Nott, when I asked. You seem to be on the up-and-up.”

The shadows grow darker around the pair of you, and all you can focus on is the deathly still wizard with blue hellfire in his eyes.

“Nott is my dearest friend. _Die schwester meines herzens._ I have done much for her and she for me. She took me, a former member of the Inquisition of the Empire, under her wing when I needed it most. It would not be a hardship for me to dust off some old skills, _ja?_ So I **_suggest_ ** you treat her better than royalty.”

“Mrrp” The cat interrupts, looking away from you, its prey, to its master. It does not defuse the terror clutching your heart in a vice.

“Or exactly how she wants to be treated.” He finishes looking sheepishly at his cat and you are glad, for once, that Nott's friends dismiss you so readily. You do not think you could stay upright with that gaze upon you for long. Because he glares at you like you are an interloper already and he is just determining the best way to get you to leave Nott's presence. Possibly in a lethal, torturous manner, if he thinks he can get away with it.

But Nott is worth it. Is worth every threat against your person you've received from her family, so you stand your ground with the only answer you can give.

“Of course, Mr. Widogast.” Because you both know who this is, but he has not introduced himself to you. “You have a cute cat by the way.”

He is not cute, he is baring his teeth and is just daring you to come within reach. But it diffuses the tension as Caleb blinks twice, ears coloring slightly and he looks away from you.

“ _Ja_ , he is pretty cute, isn't he.” His hand reaches out and scritches his cat at the neck and the cat leaps to his shoulders, becoming a furry stole. The cat is still glaring at you. “Well I, uh, it was nice to meet you.” The man seems to shrink in front of you, hunching in on himself and he shuffles awkwardly out the door.

So. _That_ happened.

* * *

 

You dream of beaches that night, when you never have before. It's one of those found in ideal fantasies: warm sand, bright blue water, palm trees and no people for miles. Well almost no people.

“Glad you could join me!” A bejeweled lavender tiefling says from where he's sprawled out on a lounge chair. He toasts a pink beverage in your direction. “Never went to the beach when I was alive. Nor did I get to have any of these,” he swirls the drink carelessly before downing it in one go. “They call these strawberry daiquiris and they are _right_ up my alley!”

You gingerly sit in the lounge chair next to him, and you see his colorful coat and the livid scar in the center of his chest, loose shirt stained crimson. “Perks of being dead, I suppose. You get to try new things that you never got the chance to in life. Name's Mollymauk Tealeaf, by the way!”

“Molly to your friends?” You can't help but finish the saying; Nott had told you of the flamboyant, kind tiefling that lived hard and died young. Apparently he spends his afterlife haunting dreams and drinking daiquiris.

“ _You_ can call me Mollymauk.” He grins, amused at your expense no doubt. His sharp teeth glint in the sun. “Because the dead hear things and I heard that you're dating our girl.”

He snaps his fingers and there is a daiquiri in both his hand and hovering in front of you, glasses coated in purple sugar. “Now I wish you the very best of luck with that; Nott is very charming and eccentric, and she has a bunch of very scary people in her corner, and I happen to like rooting for the underdog.”

“That said,” he adds in a far less jovial manner, distracting you from imbibing in the drink he provided. “I feel i should warn you that if you make her unhappy, I mean _deeply_ unhappy, so much so that the others follow through with their threats? Well, not even the afterlife is safe for you.”

Molly holds his serious expression for a moment longer, red eyes boring into yours, before he smirks. “Well that was fun! I can see why everybody else took a turn. Now begone and let me enjoy my afterlife in peace!”

You wake up in the middle of the night coughing up fruity alcohol. Nott is your sun and moon and stars, and if you didn't appreciate her enough before, the fact that she has people both living and dead to watch over her is both endearing and terrifying. After all this excitement, you think you might be ready to admit it. That you love her.

You certainly feel brave enough.

 


End file.
